The Cupid Situation
by Bloody Angels
Summary: Cupids. All Dean knew was that Cupids were a bunch of meaty, sweaty, touchy-feely, naked, giant babies. And he hated them.


Hello! Here's another Supernatural fic for you all :) I posted this earlier too but I had to take it down because it made me cringe too much. It has, however, been improved and beta-ed, thanks to the lovely dilemmasovernothing :) Hope you all enjoy it!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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"Isn't there anything else we could do?"

Bobby glares at Dean. It is far too early in the morning and he is far too sober for them to be having this conversation. "Don't you think I would have said something if there was, boy?" he grunts, watching in satisfaction as the younger hunter cringes.

"But Bobby!" Dean argues, undeterred from his goal. "Why would you make _me_ do this? Why not Sasquatch?" He gestures at his giant of a brother, who is standing not five feet away, with a dramatic motion of his arm.

"Hey!" Sam protests, giving one of his bitchfaces from where he is leaning against the study desk, but the other two hunters engaged in a stare down competition ignore him expertly.

"He doesn't fit in this picture," Bobby grunts at Dean.

"Why?"

"Because I need his help here." Bobby wheels himself behind his study desk, situating himself behind the piles of books and resting his hand on the "Besides," he tries to reason, "Those two idgits would look weirder together than the devil dancing around in a pink tutu."

If Dean hadn't been so distressed, he would've laughed at the mental image that sentence brought up. Too bad he was. "And Cas and I don't?"

"No," Bobby says with a roll of his eyes. _If you only knew,_ he thinks and then, out loud, says "Have you seen the way that angel of yours looks at you?"

"And he's always close to you," Sam offers up his opinion as he munches on some non-stale cookies Dean had grabbed from the cupboard before all this drama had started.

"He has no sense of personal space!" Dean defends but the looks his companions give him let him know that he's failing miserably in hiding the way his skin heats up and his cheeks turn pink.

Sam grins evilly at him. "But why only you, Dean?" he asks.

Dean sputters for a moment, and when he has no other answer to give his brother, he just slaps away the hand reaching for another cookie and goes with, "Shut up, Mundungus Fletcher."

Sam suddenly starts choking on the bits of cookies so violently it makes Bobby and Dean think he might hack out a liver or two.

"You girls going to bicker all day or are you gonna get your asses moving?" Bobby barks, still clearly annoyed that he hadn't had a drink from his bottle of scotch this morning because _some_ angel had invaded his house _very early_ in the morning and demanded help. Well, the angel actually requested help, but Bobby was feeling cranky and he could say whatever he damn well wanted to.

Dean turns to face the old hunter and, ignoring a spluttering Sam in the background, firmly says, "No."

Bobby doesn't say anything, as though he had expected this reaction, and, considering just how well he knew the Winchester boys, maybe he had. He doesn't get angry or disappointed; he doesn't even get annoyed.

No, Bobby Singer just glares at Dean. He gives him the same look he'd given uncountable times before; the one that had made other hunters cower, and demons falter just long enough for Bobby to take them down. That look had saved his sorry ass more times than he could count, and to him, this was a life and death situation.

To his credit, Dean faces the glare naked and head on, not cowering beneath that steely gaze. Sam, having finally calmed down on his own, thank you very much, looks at the (something) going down and starts to feel uncomfortable, despite the fact that he isn't even the victim of the stare. He clears his throat and starts fidgeting with his jacket, the room filled with tension so thick you could pierce it with a butter knife.

Dean does his best. He really does. But even the most righteous man can only take so much.

"Fine," he finally relents and slouches back into his chair, glaring at the table instead, "I'll go pack."

As he stands up and turns around, he sees Sam trying his very best to hide his snigger behind his hand, though he fails since Dean knows that brat so well that he couldn't fart without Dean knowing it. Dean narrows his eyes, then flips his brother the bird before shuffling to his room to stuff his bag with whatever weapons they might need. And possibly to trash Sam's side of the room.

Sam watches his brother go with an amused smile and then turns around to face Bobby.

"You're awesome, Bobby," he tells the old hunter, making his way to the previously occupied seat and helping himself to more cookies.

"You gotta do what you gotta do," Bobby grunts, though he does look a bit pleased with himself. "Let's just hope those two idgits finally get the clue and make a move."

With that, Bobby grabs the nearest bottle of kidney poison and, popping it open, pours the vodka into a glass. Sam nods and ponders silently as the old hunter takes a relaxing swig of the bitter liquid.

"So, have you actually seen Lucifer dancing around in a pink tutu?"

Xxx

Dean spots Cas the second he reaches a mile radius of the warehouse. The angel is standing so still that if it hadn't been for the wind flapping the lapels of that dirty trench coat of his, he would've very well passed for a statue. An eerily life-like one, sure, but a statue nonetheless.

Dean pulls over the Impala on the side of the big, gloomy-looking warehouse and, grabbing his weapon filled duffel bag from the trunk, saunters over to the angel.

"Hey Cas," Dean greets as he comes to a halt beside him and puts down his duffel by his leg.

"Dean," Cas greets back, then looks over the hunter's shoulder. "Will Sam not be joining us?"

Dean shakes his head. "Nah, man. Bobby needed that nerd's help with some research crap. This perfection-" he gestures up and down his body with his hands "- is all yours for the day," he adds, wriggling his eyebrows playfully.

Cas nods, not the lightest bit fazed. "What weapons do you have at your disposal?"

Dean rolls his eyes, muttering a 'dick' before shaking his head and crouching down to unzip the duffel and pulling out weapons. "_We_ have machetes, evergreen stakes, silver bullets, holy oil, holy water, lighter, iron, guns; pretty much every kind of weapon we own."

"I do not think we will require all of them. Only holy oil is effective against an angel."

"Whatever." Dean snorts and rolls his eyes once again. "You'll thank me later." He stands up and faces the warehouse looming at the edge of the bay. "So your angel mojo just stops working the second you get your ass inside that dump?"

Castiel nods.

"Then how the hell is that cupid inside it without going mojo-less?" Dean asks incredulously, looking over to the said warehouse with raised eyebrows.

"It's the cupid who is doing this."

Dean turns back towards the angel. "Are men in diapers supposed to have that kind of juice?"

Cas gives a slight shake of his head. "Normally, no. But this is a wayward cupid, Dean. We are not sure how powerful he has gotten, or where he is acquiring his powers from."

"Why doesn't your almighty 'God' just put him down then?" Dean challenges gruffly.

Cas looks at Dean from the corner of his eyes. "Our father does not just 'put down' anyone or anything, Dean. He believes everyone deserves to live. Why do you think Lucifer fell instead of being killed? God doesn't take anyone's lives. He just creates them."

"Of course," Dean snorts. "Who told you about this diaper guy anyway?" he asks, crouching down to zip his duffel closed and standing back up. Castiel starts towards the warehouse.

"Gabriel," he says simply.

Dean lifts his bag and swings it over his shoulder before falling in step with the angel. "And where is that dick?" he asks conversationally.

"He had to be away for another task." Cas replies in a monotonous voice, but Dean hears the slight irritation underlined in there. He smirks. "Right."

"Ready?" he asks when they reach the huge shutter of the warehouse. Castiel doesn't look at Dean, but he gives a slight nod and bends down to grip the handle of the shutter and, at Dean's count to three, the two of them roll up the shutter (with a grunt in Dean's part).

The shutter goes up with a deafening rattling noise, and the two are faced with complete darkness in front of them. The whole place practically reeks of magic, and Dean scrunches up his nose in distaste.

Castiel moves first, heading straight into the darkness with a murmur of 'stay close to me, Dean' to the hunter.

Dean snorts and mumbles something that sounds like 'I'm supposed to be the one saying that!', though he does hurry after the angel.

The second Dean is fully inside, the shutter rolls down on its own accord and slams shut, blocking the only light source and encasing them complete and absolute darkness.

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**a/n:** Updates for this fic will probably take some time because as you know, this just happens to be the National Novel Writing Month and I'm going to be very busy. I just wanted to get this chapter up before I get buried in my novel :) Take care!

-Yasu x


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